


A Distorted Portrait of Gerry Keay (Bad Ending/Deleted Scene)

by Pinkandglitterdinosaur



Series: Chromatic Fear God and Its Goth Boyfriend [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Consent is Sexy, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Nipple Piercings, Panic Attacks, Piercings, almost explicit but not quite, michael's hands need their own tag, silly teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkandglitterdinosaur/pseuds/Pinkandglitterdinosaur
Summary: I walked into the kitchen to make noodles as promised, singing under my breath a tuneless song about said noodles. I was greeted by a face in the cupboard behind a box of macaroni.“Well hello!” I said. “Are you enjoying the noodle shelf?”“There are bugs in your flour,” it replied, grin far too wide for the face it was on.“Did you put them there, Michael.”“Maybe. Who knows.” And the face was gone, like some cheshire cat bullshit.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Michael | The Distortion, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Chromatic Fear God and Its Goth Boyfriend [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983946
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	A Distorted Portrait of Gerry Keay (Bad Ending/Deleted Scene)

**Author's Note:**

> I was absolutely going to make this one explicit, but apparently I have no control over the characters I write. So enjoy this almost-smut makeout scene, I guess.
> 
> I wrote this on the same google doc that I wrote the second and final chapter of A Distorted Portrait of Gerry Keay.

Michael was standing in the corner of my bedroom like some cursed internet photo, staring and unblinking. It made me wonder if it blinked usually.

“Michael, you’re being creepy as fuck,” I said, in the midst of brushing my teeth. It made a vague noise but didn’t move. I rinsed and spit specifically so that I could stare it down. “The fuck are you doing.”

“Existing,” it said, completely serious. I raised an eyebrow and it did the same, I think.

“Why don’t you sit somewhere and stop staring at me,” I suggested. “I am going to get some sleep but I can’t do that if you’re staring at me.” I avoided looking in the mirror and grabbed a few hair ties on my way back to bed, which was now occupied. Michael was indeed sitting down, cross-legged in the center of my bed, though it had yet to cease watching me.

“I’m willing to share but dude,” I sighed, fighting a smile. “You can’t just hog the entire bed like that.” It looked down at the blankets and seemed to consider this, then sort of glitched a foot to the left. “Thanks.”

I sat down, parted my hair down the center and started to braid. Michael, apparently, found this fascinating. It was hasty and messy, but it was better than leaving my hair down to get tangled again.

I slipped under the covers and looked at my window to see the start of a sunrise. “Hey, do you have a white noise setting perchance? I get heavy traffic outside my window twice a day.”

“White noise,” it repeated, as if trying to remember something. “I don’t make noises on purpose, but I will try.” It sat still for a second before doing something that I could only describe as flicking through settings, changing colors and shapes before settling back to its preferred form accompanied by a gentle static that was less sharp than before.

“Beautiful,” I sang, flopping backwards onto my back. “Wow, I want to apologise for threatening to kill you.”

“Which occurrence?” It laughed. I grinned and gave it a kick from under the covers.

“Most of them,” I replied. “Not all of them, just most.” Michael put its hand over where its heart should be in a show of fake injury and dramatically fell off the bed onto the floor. When it didn’t immediately sit back up, I leaned over the side to see if it was still there. It was not.

“Where did you go you little shit?” I giggled, peeking under the bed. It wasn’t there, but I could hear it laughing somewhere in between my ears. Time to have a little fun.

“Oh well,” I said cartoonishly. “I guess my best friend is gone and I’m all alone now. What shall I even do with all this free time?” I could feel Michael’s amusement in the air, crackling like electricity. It liked playing games.  _ So games I shall play _ , I thought.

“Oh! I finally have time to pluck my eyebrows while I read my favorite book of all time!” I paused, trying to think of the most ridiculous book title I could. “Fifty Shades of Grey.”  _ What an awful book _ , I remembered.

My statement was met with a sound that I could only assume was Michael’s version of a wheeze.

“Since nobody is here to tell me what an awful idea that is, I will start right away!” I scooted out of bed and let out an enormously exaggerated moan while I stretched, half expecting something to drag me under the bed by the ankle. “I think I will make plain buttered noodles, first.”

I think that Michael may have made a gagging noise, but I could never be sure with this one.

I walked into the kitchen to make noodles as promised, singing under my breath a tuneless song about said noodles. I was greeted by a face in the cupboard behind a box of macaroni.

“Well hello!” I said. “Are you enjoying the noodle shelf?”

“There are bugs in your flour,” it replied, grin far too wide for the face it was on.

“Did you put them there, Michael.”

“Maybe. Who knows.” And the face was gone, like some cheshire cat bullshit. I turned around to see it sitting on the stove next to the burner, sticking its fingers in the flame.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re gonna light something on fire, Michael. No arson today.” I made a genuine attempt to sound like I was scolding it, but I doubt I came across that way.

Now, I know that it wasn’t trying to tempt me, what with the goofy grin it sported while inspecting the small fires atip its fingers. But it sat so close to me, close enough to touch.

“Can I touch you?” I asked quickly, looking up at its face. It was much taller than me normally, so I took a quick note of how much shorter it looked and wondered if it did that on purpose. It blew out the flame engulfing its hand and looked back at me for a moment, looking like it was really thinking hard about how to answer.

“Yes,” it replied, but slowly as if it wasn’t quite sure. I lifted my hand toward where it held its own, fingers still smoking slightly. I think it almost pulled back before meeting my hand half way, pressing our palms together. Its gaze was focused at the point where we touched when I looked back at it. I turned off the stove.

I moved my other hand to caress the back of its hand. “Is this okay?” I asked. Michael wasn’t used to existing like this, much less being treated like it existed. It nodded, still transfixed on our hands.

I intertwined our fingers and watched its face carefully. I was surprised to see that it was emitting pink confetti from its hair, which I could only assume was good. Was it blushing? Is that what it does instead of blush? I stepped in between its legs and reached my other hand up to its face, ghosting over its cheek.

It glanced back and forth between my face and our hands like it wasn’t sure what would be better, eventually settling on my face. Making eye contact was difficult with Michael, though. It always registered as something off, like watching a 3D movie without the glasses or crossing your eyes.

When I was sure that it was looking at me, I gently held its cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb under its eye. I could tell that it was trying very hard to remain soft to the touch and corporeal enough to do so.

“Does this feel okay?” I asked again, and it closed its eyes and leaned into my touch. This was, quite frankly, a little startling. I was expecting it to start fuzzing out and pull away, maybe even just pop out of existence entirely. I certainly wasn’t expecting it to enjoy being perceived like this.

“Can I,” it whispered. “Can I touch you back?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I tried not to gasp in anticipation. Was I so touch-starved that I was craving something so simple as a brush of a hand?

Michael hesitated, then trailed its free hand up my arm, slowly, resting it on my shoulder blade. I took a deep breath and stepped close enough that our elbows were touching on the side where our hands still sit entwined together.

“Have you ever been kissed before, Michael?” This was a genuine question and concern. Will its teeth be too sharp for something like that? Would it tell me if they were? Would I be into it?

“Not in this form,” it replied. “I think he had, once or twice.” Was this a good thing or a bad thing? I brushed its lips with my thumb.

“Would you mind at all if I kissed you?” I asked, entranced by the way its lips changed color when I touched them, like a mood ring.

“Would you stop talking if I let you?” it teased, grinning. Right then, I decided that I would, in fact, be into sharp teeth.

“Hm, great point. I rather like talking.” It laughed, and this time I felt it in my bones. “Oh well,” I said. “Guess I can’t kiss you today. Darn.”

At this, it slipped off the counter and pressed its body against mine, now back to looming over me. I barely stood up to its chest. I very much had the desire to be fucked over the kitchen counter. To be honest, I was having a real bottom moment and I didn’t have those very often.

But we were still playing a game, and it’s bad sportsmanship to just give up when the game has barely started. So I sighed and pouted and pulled away with the intention of wandering off to pretend to sulk. I probably got maybe three steps before I felt Michael’s hands on my sides, holding me in place. My heart definitely skipped a beat when it pressed itself flush against my back and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“What kind of host would leave their guest just sitting in the kitchen?” I watched the pink and purple confetti float down in front of my face, disappearing as they touched the floor.

“Why don’t you accompany me to my bedroom, then?” I asked, trying so very hard to sound snarky but ultimately failing.

“Of course, lead the way.” And the hands were gone. I cleared my throat and walked to my room as normally as I could manage. This encounter was leading me to believe that I was a horrible actor. I crawled up onto my bed and sat on my heels to watch Michael do the same.

It was interesting to watch because its limbs are a little longer than they should be, but overall it looked much more graceful than I felt. However, as soon as it was on the bed, its confidence vanished. It looked like it got caught stealing cookies.

This time, it was my turn to laugh. I tried not to, but the switch in demeanor caught me off guard and its hair stood up like a cat’s. “Sorry,” I giggled, motioning for it to come closer. I got comfortable against the headboard and reached a hand out to Michael. It hesitated but crawled over, straddling one of my thighs and taking my hand.

“You’re okay with kissing?” I asked, just to check. I impulsively reached out to brush its hair out of its face and wasn’t met with pain, so I assumed it was okay and tucked the hair behind its ear where I dislodged some neon confetti.

“Yes,” it said, eyes closed as I touched its hair. Its hair actually felt like hair, which surprised me. I was expecting something odd like ice water or slime.

I placed my hand on the back of its neck, which may or may not have had too many vertebrae, and gently pulled it down for a kiss. Our lips met slowly and tenderly and moved gently like that for a good while before Michael pulled away with a mischievous look.

“I want to try something,” it said. I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, especially given the face it was making. I must have said something, though, because it moved both its hands to cradle my face and went back in for another kiss.

This kiss was different in that it pressed its thumbs to my jaw in a way that prompted me to open up. I did this, of course, but I was still on the cautious side when I realised that its tongue was longer than I was anticipating. I had a split second where I had a very vivid image of it wrapped around my cock, but quickly dismissed it because we definitely hadn’t discussed that yet. I must have made a noise because Michael pulled away, chuckling.

“So I assume that means that’s good, then?” it asked, already sure of the answer. I took a moment to breathe and absently placed my hands on its hips. I cleared my throat a little before I spoke.

“How far are you comfortable taking this?” I asked, though my voice was a little higher than I would have liked. This was, apparently, hilarious.

“That depends on where this is going,” it laughed, back to being cryptic as all hell. This was, however, a great point.

“I’m not entirely sure, myself,” I admitted. “How, uh, how sharp are your teeth?”

“It varies from moment to moment,” it crooned, sporting a grin. From what I could see, it had far too many teeth, most of which screamed carnivore. I wanted to say something, but I was pulling a total blank.

I hooked my fingers under the waistband of its jeans for leverage and pulled in down into another kiss. I think it may have tasted like bubble gum, or maybe grass and birthday cake. Or stale chocolate.

So, I pulled my shirt over my head and flung it off somewhere, thankful that I was at my own place instead of someone else’s. I may or may not have forgotten that before Michael was a Something, he was most definitely a virgin and an awkward one at that. I had met him a total of once in the Archives, right before the big trip.

Never mind it saying earlier that he had been kissed only once or twice, he probably didn’t get a chance to see a guy shirtless in this context. Which would explain why Michael changed color, reminiscent of arcade room carpet, when it saw my piercings. Squiggly lines and shapes in neon green, pink, and orange swam across every inch of its skin that I could see. I’d had some interesting reactions before, but none quite like that.

After the initial shock of finding out I had nipple piercings (honestly, did it think I stopped with my face?), it immediately reached out to touch one. It pressed a finger to the nub and I was reminded of how  _ ridiculously _ sharp its fingers were.

“Careful!” I hissed, grabbing its hand. I did a quick damage check to find that it had nicked me very lightly, but not as bad as I was dreading. I wouldn’t even need a bandaid. I looked up at Michael to see the confetti and patterns were gone. “Sorry,” I said. “You just startled me a little. You didn’t hurt me though, so no worries.”

It wasn’t even pretending to breathe, eyes glazed over with static. There was always something off about it, something that triggered one’s primal instincts, but this felt different.

“Michael,” I tested. “Are you still with me?” It looked back at my face in response. “Look, I’m not even bleeding.”

I wasn’t an expert in psychology, but from my own experiences I knew what panic attacks could look like. “Talk to me, Michael,” I said. “I need you to talk to me, my friend. What’s going on?”

However, I didn’t get a response before it flickered out, taking its door with it. I was left with a dead eye and no sense of smell.


End file.
